Prince of Pokemon
by coffeelatte
Summary: In an Alternate Universe, wherein Pokemon battling has become quite the popular sport. Echizen Ryoma finds himself with more than he gambled for when he joins the Seigaku battling team; from Hyper Deluxe Juices to Monkey Kings to a damned genius that just won't leave him alone, the competition scene is about to get quite a bit more amusing. AU. Ensemble-fic. Shounen-ai abound.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello my lovely readers! **BEFORE YOU READ:** No, this is not some crack!fic, though it may have a few crack moments – because who can help it? HAHA. This is basically the PoT plotline set in a pokemon!verse situation, with a few scenarios and added twists of my own. **SHOUNEN-AI WARNING:** As a fan of shounen-ai, I will be including quite a few pairings – a few that I'm pondering on are: Thrill Pair, Imperial Pair, Dirty Pair, Silver Pair, Alpha Pair, Golden Pair…tell me in a review if there are other pairings (or even side scenarios) you might want to see!

This hasn't been done before as far as I know, so I know I'm treading into new territory, but I promise you that I'll try my best to make this a worthwhile read for those who give it a chance! I'll soon post up a list of all characters and the Pokemon they own, to keep everything nice and organized, but not until a few more people are introduced!

**MANY THANKS **to Papilio Ageha, another wonderful Prince of Tennis fanfiction writer, who helped me to come up with some pokemon matchings to different characters! Check out her profile and stories here: www DOT fanfiction DOT net SLASH u / 1449860 / Papilio-Ageha (TAKE OUT THE SPACES!)

**PLEASE REVIEW:** Especially because I'm doing something I've never tried before, I'd really appreciate if everyone gave me their thoughts on how they think this is going, ehehe.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

_- _SET IN A HIGH SCHOOL VERSE_ -_

* * *

_Step, step, step, crunch. Step, step, step, crunch, crunch, step, step_-

A slender figure – short, too, barely passing 5 feet and two inches – walks forward, amidst the fallen leaves of the fall season. He walks with a slow, idle gait, as though there were a million other things he'd rather be doing, but at the same time, he couldn't be _bothered_ to do anything else. The boy pauses at the entrance to the school grounds, eyes flitting to the gleaming sign on the low wall: "SEISHUN GAKUEN."

A slow, small smirk makes its way onto the curve of his lips, golden eyes glinting with _something_. The interest in his eyes subdues a moment later, and he resumes his steady, collected walk, step by step, and deep down, he relishes in the sound of crunching leaves beneath his feet.

* * *

"_This is coming to you live, from just outside the home of the name we've all known and recognized since he first defeated the Indigo League – and the name that's come to dominate the world in a hurricane of fiery ambition and skill, as he claimed the title of 'Pokemon Master' just a bare four years later. Echizen Nanjiroh has finally made his return to Japan, sixteen years after slipping into inactivity and recluse following his marriage and birth of his only son."_

The reporter smiled brightly into the camera, clutching the mic before her lips; all around her, flocked to the front gates of the temple, were cameramen and crew from at least over a dozen other prestigious news stations, from what she could see. And what else was to be expected? What station would be stupid enough to miss the long-awaited return of _Echizen Nanjiroh_ to his native country?

She fixed her hair, reapplied her lipstick, then-

"_Rumors have it that he will be sending his son – who has already conquered numerous junior leagues in the States – to his former teacher. Although the name of the school and coach has yet to be released, one can be sure that the whole world will be looking forward to Echizen Nanjiroh's next move, and hoping – just daring to hope – that perhaps his return to Japan could be the signal of his return to the battle scene."_

* * *

Ryuzaki Sumire stared at the wall, seated comfortably on her leather-cushioned seat, wrinkling hands folded regally atop the cherrywood desk. Trophies, certificates, awards, letters of recognition and congratulations – they were all tacked up onto the vast wall of her office, starting with the oldest, spilling into the newest. In the center of the wall that was most certainly considered a 'fire hazard' by the fire department (but who would dare to tell her how to decorate _her_ office?) remained an old photograph, framed and sitting in the position it has held since almost twenty years ago.

A young man – grinning brightly, mischievously, _incorrigibly_ – stands in the center of an arena, long, dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail at the back of his head. He has one hand fisted in the air, holding a worn pokeball (the first he's ever had, as she remembers), and a Raichu stands just as proudly and arrogantly beside its owner.

Her finest and _most idiotic_ student she's ever had the pleasure of teaching: Echizen Nanjiroh.

He had been a wild child, even back in the day – back when her hair had been long and luxurious, when her figure had formed a perfect 'S' shape. She remembered scowling at him when he refused to listen to her directions, when he smiled lecherously at her formidable rack, when he smiled so brightly it hurt as he won his first tournament since entering Seishun Gakuen.

The art of Pokemon battling has long since been an ancient craft; the Leagues, wherein one travelled to a total of eight gyms in the land, gained victory and the appropriate badges, and finally challenged the Elite Four to hope to earn the title of 'League Champion' had always been around, too. But the making of battling into a _school sport_ had come around just a few years before Nanjiroh's time.

Schools had always taught at least a year or two of Pokemon battling to their students when they began their first year of high school, but it was usually for naught anyways, as most students had already mastered _that_ portion of raising Pokemon as children. They weren't much good, most of them, but there were a few surprisingly decent battlers.

When Seishun Gakuen had joined the new fad of creating Pokemon battle teams to compete against other schools as they did with normal sports, Sumire had been appointed coach of the boys' team. The first few years were a disaster – boys got choked up, misused their Pokemon, or even attempted to join the fights _themselves._

And then, Echizen Nanjiroh had come along, with a sharp tongue and but _one_ Pokemon, looking as though he were ready to take on the world. She'd laughed at him – right before he'd blown her away with his seemingly effortless ability to battle and understand Pokemon as she'd never known anyone to be able to before.

That was the start of _everything._

Now, twenty years later, battling is most certainly the most popular, and most competitive, form of inter-school sports. Of course, it was also the sport that most often got tangled up in lawsuits and precarious situations with angry parents, given that it placed hormonal teenagers in a field with dangerous, magical beasts, and told them to fight _other_ teenagers equipped with equally dangerous, magical beasts. Nonetheless, it was extremely popular, and despite only being on the high-school level, it was as televised as any other form of sports - the _really_ talented athletes were no less known than celebrities, nowadays.

In the mass of schools vying for one of the top spots, Seishun Gakuen has taken its place as one of the top three seeded schools in the Japan High School Battling League, alongside Hyotei Gakuen and Rikkai Dai Fuzoku. It's been a few years since Seigaku has been able to take the first place trophy, as Rikkai Dai and Hyotei had taken them in the past by just _a few points_-

But this, this was the year, Sumire was sure. She'd never seen a stronger team of regulars since Nanjiroh's days, and with the captain being _Tezuka Kunimitsu_ this year…

And that Nanjiroh twerp had left her quite a stunning message on the phone just a few days back – _"Hey, old hag! I'm movin' back to that stinkin country with my family soon; look after my brat for me, will you? I can't trust anyone else to get this kid in line, but I'm sure your screaming might do it."_

If that child had even a vein of Nanjiroh's blood in his body, he'd be something worth watching for.

Sumire felt a small smile curving onto her lips. She could feel giddy laughter rising in her throat when she imagined the envy those two damned coaches of Rikkai Dai and Hyotei would feel when they saw her lineup this year. Those bastards always had a way of teasing her for growing _senile_ – why, she'd show them what senile looked like-! Taro Sakaki, watch your back!

* * *

Ryuzakai Sakuno was one scatterbrained girl – she was undoubtedly smart, with high marks in all her classes, but she was hopeless with directions and clumsy to a fault. Still, when she caught the boy who appeared to be a first-year, looking around in various directions as though he were lost, she couldn't help but to approach him with a tentative smile and the offer to help.

The boy turned, and her heart paused and skipped a beat. Though he wasn't very much taller than himself, he simply had this aura of _presence_, wide golden eyes boring into her gaze as though he were tunneling through her very mind. Emerald-tinted hair fell about his porcelain features, and a white cap adorned his head (wasn't that against the school dress code?); the black jacket of his uniform was unbuttoned, revealing the white button-up shirt beneath it.

"Hn? Aa – doesn't this school have a battle club?"

Sakuno's eyes widened. This small boy – battling? "E-Ehh? Um, of course we do! It's right over that way!" Sakuno pointed in a certain direction.

The boy tugged on his cap slightly in thanks, before trudging off in the direction.

* * *

"_Kyaaa! Pervert!"_ was most certainly _not_ the line he first wanted to hear upon entering this stupid school Oyaji had chosen for him.

Ryoma hadn't really wanted to come to Japan, to begin with. He preferred the familiar streets of New York, the lazy drawl of the English language as opposed to the snippy, staccato beats of Japanese; he was already a holder of four consecutive Junior league titles there, and in his years in the States, had come across enough powerful opponents to keep him amused for a while. But Oyaji had _insisted_ that Japan was the place where Ryoma could _really_ hone his skills, and so he was here, dutifully sent along to his dad's alma mater.

Of course, it had to be just his luck to get help from some stupid girl with stupidly long pigtail braids, who'd directed him to the _girls bathroom_.

Finally, on his own, Ryoma had found his way to the appropriate club and field. The battling club had been allotted a large amount of land, covered in 'battle fields,' as they were called: rectangles drawn with sharp, clean white lines, dividing each rectangle into the appropriate areas: the two trainer boxes on either end, the center circle, and the halfway line. Each battle field was gated by a metal fence for the safety of spectators. Aside from a few small buildings (which he presumed to be changing rooms and healing centers), the battling club grounds was strewn with these battle fields, though the square of the center-most four rectangles was kept noticeably empty.

He had hardly entered the fields when he caught something of interest towards the far-end of the area. While most rectangles were occupied with trainers either battling against one another or training their pokemon, there was one at the left end where a group of three males seemed to be talking.

A tall boy – perhaps a third year, he mused – grinned at a smaller first year, something along the lines of "Heeeey, newbie – want to play a game?" from his lips, and Ryoma could hear the words faintly from where he stood.

Interest piqued, Ryoma made his way over, one brow slightly raised. He watched from behind the metal fence, leaning against it casually, humming quietly under his breath.

A can had been placed several feet in front of the first year, who had been told to release his pokemon – as Ryoma saw now, a small rattata. "The rules are simple," he heard the third year say. "You just have to knock over the can with one attack, and we'll give you 500 Yen."

Ryoma snorted.

"Wow! Um – okay!" the first year replied, to which Ryoma rolled his eyes.

"Alright, rattata! Use tackle!" Promptly, the mouse burst into action, darting forward and hurling its body at the can – only to stumble to the side with a whimper of pain. Ryoma's eyes stared unflinchingly at the scene, gaze lingering at the can.

"Since you lost, first-year, you now owe us 10000 Yen," the senior proclaimed, a sneer overtaking his features.

The first-year's expression promptly morphed into that of horror, and Ryoma was left wondering if he was _really_ that naive as to believe that anything good could have come out of this 'game.' Well. None of his business, Ryoma shrugged, and began to turn around-

Just then, a looming figure walked onto the field, dressed in a yellow shirt so bright it hurt Ryoma's eyes, and blue trainers. He had a headband wrapped around his forehead and spiky hair that Ryoma was sure that it gave him an extra few inches, with violet eyes smiling and friendly. "You shouldn't bully the first years, Arai – you shouldn't," he said in a jovial voice, but Ryoma caught the warning tone in the words, as did the addressed male.

'Arai' seemed surprised that the new boy was there, for his next words were "What are you doing here, Momoshiro? I thought the regulars were-"

At the word 'regulars,' Ryoma's eyes flitted to the tall new boy - so he was a regular, here? Ryoma settled himself back against the fence; if it was a regular, it would be something interesting to watch.

'Momoshiro' shrugged. "I stayed behind to watch over the club. Good thing I did, huh?" His lips widened into a silly smile. "Hey, Arai – what if I take the boy's spot and play for him instead?" And before Arai could respond, Momo had pulled out a pokeball of his own, and with a wolfish grin, released an equally grinning Mankey.

"Mankey – go punch that can."

The pokemon readily obeyed, careening into the can with a forceful fist – and even Ryoma, from several feet away, could feel the blow of power from the small impact. The can blew backwards, a sound dent in its surface. But Mankey didn't stop there – it went down the line, punching every single can into a crumpled mess, until it reached the last one-

-but it didn't quite get to the last one, for something else hurled sharply onto the top of the can first.

Momoshiro's eyes shot to the can sharply.

A lithe Pikachu darted back onto the floor, tail still glimmering from the after effects of 'iron tail,' and looked back at its owner for approval. Ryoma's lips curved into a smirk, and that's all that Pikachu needed to grin smugly.

The can, after having been hit on its point of impact, tore open cleanly – revealing several heavy weights inside.

"Some cheap game," Ryoma commented rather loudly, and the Pikachu scurried back to his side. Arai, eyes irritated, flashed to Ryoma, and he made a move to walk threateningly towards the smaller boy; just then, Momoshiro's intimidating, taller figure made itself known, and Arai visibly backed off. With a growl of frustration, Arai lumbered off the fields, and Ryoma's smirk widened. "Mada mada dane," he murmured, and turned around with the intention of leaving, too-

"Oi! First-year! Wait."

Ryoma's heard quirked around to raise a brow levelly at Momoshiro, who now pointed an almost accusing finger at Ryoma. "Fancy a battle?"

Ryoma's lips widened into a smirk again.

* * *

Six figures made their way into the battle club grounds, led by a tall boy with side-swept brown hair and a stoic expression behind elegant silver rims. Almost all activity in the club paused in favor of staring in awe at the boys who, despite chattering amongst themselves with aching casualness, exuded a presence so powerful it was impossible not to notice.

"It's the regulars!" one of the first year members whispered to another. "They're back!"

Fuji caught the statement, and chuckled softly, honey-brown locks swaying in the soft breeze. "Why, yes we are," he murmured at the boy who had just spoken. "Why? Would you have preferred that we stay away a little while longer?"

The boy stammered.

Fuji opened his eyes to reveal two orbs of shocking electric blue.

The boy almost whimpered in fear.

"Fuji," Tezuka's stern voice cut through Fuji's obvious delight and amusement, and the shorter boy pouted playfully.

"I was only asking," Fuji replies smoothly. He hands the first-year a parting Cheshire grin smile, though, that has him quivering in half-awe and half-fear.

"Look, nya! Momo's playing against some newcomer!" Eiji exclaimed, jumping up to wrap his limbs into a tangle about his doubles partner, Oishi, who staggered only slightly at the shorter boy's weight. "Hoi hoiiiii," Eiji hummed, close to Oishi's ear.

"Ah, ah – Momo really shouldn't be using his pokemon so soon after the accident," Oishi murmured worriedly, green eyes flashing. But, then again – even a severely crippled Momo would be more than a match for most standard trainers, Oishi reasoned, feeling relieved once more. Eiji patted his head soothingly – poor Oishi, always worrying his pretty little head.

"Oishi, nya – you're gonna get _gray hairs_ with all that worrying, you know?"

Oishi only frowned.

* * *

A particularly unlucky run-in with some broken training equipment and a lack of foresight on his part had left his main pokemon severely injured in the left ankle; it was because of that very injury that Momo had opted to skip out on the quick training match Seigaku had scheduled with a neighboring school that day. Still, he couldn't help but to have requested a small battle with this boy, because something, _something_ about him screamed 'a challenge.'

And Momo never did resist those too well, not when his blood boiled with vigor at the prospect of a good match. "What's your name, first year?"

Ryoma's lip quirks up. "Echizen Ryoma." He tugs on his hat.

Momo's brows rose to his hairline, violet eyes closing in onto the first year in renewed interest. 'Echizen Ryoma,' his mind plays with the name as it tugs with familiarity in his memories - ah, he remembers now. Ryuzaki-sensei had told him that there was an amusing first year transferring in - one with a particularly interesting pokemon.

"Ah, ah – you're the one with a Pikachu that knows volt tackle, huh?" Momo grins down at the Pikachu, who only observes its tail coolly, smugness radiating off of its yellow fur.

Ryoma simply tugs on his cap again, though Momo can see another smirk decorating the line of his lips. Keh – snarky little brat; no wonder his Pikachu has such an attitude, too. Well, whatever. Momo pointed at Ryoma again, before nudging his chin onto the battle field. "Let's go, shortie, let's go," he grins vivaciously, to which Ryoma narrows his eyes at 'shortie.'

He turns his sharp golden glower onto Momo, and he knows he's incited some fighting spirit in the mysterious first-year, and widens his grin.

* * *

"_C'mon, Ryoma – Pikachu's stronger than this, son."_

_Ryoma scowls deeply, taking in the roughed up state of his Pokemon, before glowering resentfully at his father's own Raichu, smirking from the other side of the battlefield. "Stop depending on its electric attacks, Ryoma – make it strong even without electricity."_

_Ryoma wants to throw his hands up in the air, because what the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? Pikachu was an electric rodent, for fuck's sake-_

"_Again, Ryoma – let's go."_

_With a growl of frustration, Ryoma commands another order to Pikachu, only to have Raichu deflect the attack with an air of practiced ease._

_His father's infuriating grin widens, and all Ryoma can think of is shaving off that disgusting stubble from his chin. "Again, Ryoma. One more time."_

* * *

"Pikachu – quick attack," Ryoma's monotone voice orders, just loud enough for the yellow mouse to pick up on the command. It darts into action at a surprising speed even for Momo, whose Mankey takes the hit and stumbles. But Momo is unfazed.

"Don't play with me, kid – show me that volt tackle of yours," he whines, before: "Go in for a low kick, Mankey-!"

"Quick attack," Ryoma orders again – and Pikachu barely avoids Mankey's outstretched leg in time to careen into the white monkey with another quick attack. Momo is unfazed by the amount of hits his Mankey takes – rather, he feels frustrated that it seems as though the shorter boy is holding back.

"Cross chop," he finally gargles out – and Mankey raises its forehands out in an 'X' just as Ryoma tones out, "Iron tail," and Pikachu's silver glowing tail slams into the formed X. The two Pokemon stagger back at the force of the impact, and for a moment, they act upon animalistic instinct and experience alone; the two trainers take a backseat.

Mankey gives a shrill cry in favor of lunging forward, claws outstretched, and Pikachu prances around, moving at a speed so high after-images are left in its wake; but Mankey isn't known for its slow speed, either, and it's almost caught up with Pikachu's zig-zagging tail-

-and catches it, pinning it down, until Pikachu squeals.

Ryoma finds it the right time to intercept: "Pikachu – bring your body in and _slam it_-"

And the electric rat obeys; while its tail is trapped on the floor by a triumphant Mankey, it heaves the rest of its body forward and slams into the equally sized form of the monkey, and both roll forward until Momoshiro gives the next command.

"Seismic toss! Give it a good whirl, Mankey!"

Ryoma's eyes widen for a split second as Manky gets right back up and grabs Pikachu's tail, and before he can utter another command, the small monkey spins in a rapid circle, spinning Pikachu as an outstretched component-

-and Ryoma _feels_ the precise moment the small hands let go of his Pokemon's tail, for he darts into action, too. "Just ride the pressure upwards," he manages to command, "And lower your tail to balance when you're at the peak of the toss!"

Momoshiro snorts – as if the rat would be able to maneuver itself so well mid-air; but it does, and his violet eyes snap open, and Mankey's left slack-jawed itself. "Come down with an iron tail!" Both trainer and pokemon hear the slightly raspy voice of Ryoma command his Pikachu.

"Karate Chop when it hits you," Momo counters just as fiercely.

And both trainers watch in concentration as Pikachu makes an elegant arch high in the air with a now-glowing tail, hurtling down, down, until it hits the Mankey's hurled arm; the two pokemon are caught in a heartbeat's standstill-

-until Mankey's arm gives way first, and it rolls to the side in a shriek of pain.

Momo takes an anxious step forward, before remembering that his is a _battle_, and for his self to step into the field could mean lethal consequences. From across the field, Pikachu lowers into a four-legged crouch as to remind Momoshiro just how _dangerous_ a bright yellow rat can be, a fanged grin from his mouth.

"Pikachu," Ryoma begins. Pikachu tenses into action. "Come back."

The tension in the air is shattered with that single phrase, and at once, everything collapses. Pikachu's figure slumps in half-disappointment, half-exasperation, before scurrying back to Ryoma. Mankey's determined growl fades into a slight hum of confusion, and Momoshiro mirrors his Pokemon's expression.

Ryoma tugs on his hat. "Mada mada dane," he mutters, and walks away.

* * *

Fuji's head is tilted, blue eyes slightly open – though not quite as bright as they usually are when he has a reason to open his eyes. His head is tilted in amusement, and a kind of interest that chills Tezuka to the bone when he notices the level of curiosity that mysterious first-year has managed to pique in Fuji's bones. Oishi is still worrying, it seems, hysteria increased ten-fold as he tries to wrangle out of Eiji's death grip and run to Momo-

-but he can't, and gives a mournful cry of a mother who's lost her child, when Eiji won't relent on his hug of death. Eiji, meanwhile, doesn't notice his partner's desperate wish to check on their teammate, but only has eyes bulging out of their sockets, slack-jawed.

Inui's glasses are glinting dangerously, Tezuka notes with an upcoming migraine; things never turn out well when the boy's glasses shine with an unholy light like that. The last time, Inui managed to slaughter their entire two-hundred applicant strong pool of newcomers with his 'Hyper Deluxe Golden Juice' (Eiji's shrieks of "Nya! Nya nya nya that's not gold, nya! That's _black_-" still ring in his head from time to time).

Kaidoh's rolling his eyes and muttering about idiots that are too weak to do anything right, and Kawamura seems to be worried (on an appropriate level, nothing like the near-hysteric bawling Oishi seems to be about to hurl into at any second now) for their friend.

Tezuka snaps all of them back to attention with a "Don't let your guard down."

But he, too, makes a note to inquire about that freshman later.

* * *

"Is that okay, Momo?"

Momoshiro looks up at the amused tone in his coach's voice, familiar and warm in the 'strict grandmother' kind of tone she has. His Mankey in front of him seems fine enough, for the battle hadn't gone long enough to last any serious damage on either party; Momo, though, doesn't know whether to feel disappointed or excited. "What is?"

Ryuzaki-sensei chuckled knowingly. "At that rate, that first-year would have walked all over you," she laughs, and though her words may suggest so, Momoshiro can't find any hint of admonishment in her voice.

Momoshiro laughed sheepishly, then, scratching the back of his head with an embarrassed smile. "That shortie was good!"

"Momo, your Mankey had a sprained ankle- surely, if it was better, the match would have gone differently."

But Momoshiro shook his head, a grin on his lips. "That kid knew from the very beginning."

A knowing smile touched Ryuzaki-sensei's expression. "Oho?"

"That kid used a handicap on his senior – what brattiness!" he laughed.

* * *

Fuji remained in his still position just beside Tezuka, arms crossed and a serene expression gracing his beautiful features. "Tezuka," he murmurs, in a whimsical tone. "Did you notice?" And Fuji leaned his head towards Tezuka, smile beginning to take a turn for the amused.

Tezuka paused to ponder on what Fuji meant, before- "…Aa."

"That kid – didn't use a _single electric attack_ with Momo."

Tezuka pushed the bridge of his glasses further up his nose. "Aa," he repeated, for he, too, had already noticed halfway through the match.

"Saa…Seigaku's about to get a little more interesting, don't you think?"

Tezuka didn't want to admit the chill that shot up his spine at the sound of Fuji's voice – just like the devil, murmuring sweet curses to the ears of his damned followers. Goddamned Fuji and his sadistic, _insane_ bastard tendencies-

Fuji _giggled_, and Tezuka felt another piece of his soul smolder and wither away into ash.

* * *

**POKEMON SELECTIONS: **If you think there are any pokemon a character should have, please state so in a review, too, and help me out! Ehehe.

**READ. REVIEW. LOVE.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Alrighty, the next chapter is done! Whew! For now, it's following the timeline of the actual series quite closely, but as we get into the next few chapters, I assure you it'll start varying it up a bit. Hehehe. We see the beginnings of a pairing here, but not much – just the teasers. Ohoho. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and I'd really appreciate some more feedback on this chapter, too – just because I usually write canonOC stories, so this is a little out of my element. But I'm trying! Hehe.

This chapter is dedicated to my friend **LAHDOLPHIN**, who has some of the most bloody amazing Prince of Tennis fics – including a Hiyoshi/maleOC fic, 'Seducing the Mushroom King,' which is seriously to die for. HAHAHA. Go check out her profile here (and don't forget to delete all the spaces): fanfiction ( DOT NET ) (FORWARD SLASH ) u (FORWARD SLASH) 1708315 (FORWARD SLASH ) Lahdolphin

**UPDATES**: I've actually updated the first chapter a little bit, because I was in a rush, rather, when I first wrote it - so go reread it, yeah? A few little details and descriptions added here and there. Hehe.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

Fuji Shusuke was a genius.

Or so the tabloids said.

One in a millennium, they called him – another one of the formidable _monsters_ that were going to take Seishun Gakuen straight to the top this year; a prodigy, a _tensai._ People saw Fuji and they saw beauty, elegance, and a sort of charm that one didn't often encounter – the sort of charm that worked its magic so discreetly one didn't even notice it whirring away, until it had settled directly in one's heart and made itself a permanent resident.

For those who actually _knew_ Fuji knew that he was so, so much more than that.

They know he was a sadistic bastard, one that could only be defined by the laws of inhuman strangeness, one who preferred cacti to roses, wasabi to actual sushi. No one ever _really_ understood Fuji, nor understood what interested this boy; he was bored with the things that usually shocked the world, and found his interest instead in things that most people didn't dare touch.

Tezuka Kunimitsu himself would vouch for the boy's certified insanity and intense bouts of quirkiness, and Tezuka didn't make such statements often. Inui Sadaharu, though, would simply tell you that Fuji was quite the nice friend, because he was the one person who wasn't immediately slaughtered by one of his 'batches.' He, as Inui would neatly state, was one who knew how to appreciate the finer drinks in life, never mind Kikumaru's outraged shrieks of _'Those aren't drinks_.'

Needless to say, when one caught Fuji's interest, one was better off disguising oneself as the opposite gender and leap into the next boat overseas.

As fate would have it, that day in the battle fields, Echizen Ryoma had piqued Fuji's interest.

And god help him, Tezuka silently added.

* * *

Ryoma didn't really know why he joined the battle team at Seigaku – his match with the senpai known as 'Momoshiro' had been interesting, but not really enough to have him take the initiative to join a team. Ryoma, after all, wasn't much of a team player, and the world would fall at the seams if he ever deigned to play a doubles match. His Pikachu didn't know how to share the field with other pokemon well unless it was charging towards it with fangs bared and claws outreached in an effort to defeat it, either.

Like trainer, like pokemon.

But he supposed it was something that the old hag- er. Ryuzaki-sensei had said. He had to be careful, Ryoma noted, not to slip and call her what he'd mostly gotten used to thinking of her as from all the stories Oyaji told him, all of which pertained to her as the 'devilish old hag.'

"_I can see your father's blood in you boy_," she'd said. And for a moment, Ryoma had felt a flash of irritation, because who wanted to be related to that lecherous, skirt-chasing perve? His mother had made a bad choice when she decided to accept that monk into her life.

"_You know, Ryoma – he's been waiting his whole life for someone who could beat him, but he never really found that person. And finally, he gave up, and you were born."_

Ryoma had paused.

"_When he saw you for the first time, do you want to know what he said to me?"_

No-

"_He said- 'Old hag, I'm tired of waiting for my rival – don't you think it's time I raised one?'"_

Golden irises widened.

"_He's been waiting all this time, and then he found you."_

Sumire's lips quirk into a sly smile.

"_Who'd have known?"_

The next morning, before he even knew what he was doing, he'd turned in an official sign-up form to a smug Ryuzaki Sumire, who barely concealed her budding grin of triumph. Ryuzaki-sensei had slapped his back with a hearty laugh (which bordered on manic enthusiasm that he didn't really understand), and Ryoma had simply tugged on his hat with a quiet 'mada mada dane.'

And as Ryoma left, he could swear he heard the words _'Sakaki, watch your damn back, because I'll show you what senile looks like_.'

* * *

"Nya! Did you hear? That first-year joined the club!"

"Eiji, you'll hurt yourself if you jump around too much- and oh? The one Momo battled yesterday?"

"Man, that freshman was something else – that arrogance and smirk, and all-"

"Fshuuuu…you're just a weak disgrace, peach-head."

"What'd you say?!"

"You heard me, idiot."

"You're the bastard who looks like a cross between a terrorist and a stupid _snake_-"

"A-Ah, you guys, don't fight-"

"Here, Taka-san."

"OH! BURNING! TAKE DOWN THAT FRESHMAN IN A REMATCH WITH A _BURNING PASSION_-"

"Probability of the freshman making the regulars: 5 percent; after all, first-years aren't in the ranking matches."

"Nya? Then why the five percent, Sada?"

"Saa… Inui's never been wrong, has he?"

"Enough. Resume practice. Yudan sezu ni ikou-"

"Pretty words for someone who was caught necking it with Hyotei's Emperor the other day-"

"NYA?!"

"OH, BURNING LOVE!"

"Shusuke! Must you provoke him so-"

"That is _enough._" A cough. "Practice is in session."

* * *

"I thought it was strange that Momo-senpai was doing so badly yesterday – turns out, his Mankey's arm was sprained with some broken equipment the other week!"

"Hehhhhh."

"Oi- are you listening, Echizen?"

The loudmouth boy (as Ryoma had labeled him, because learning his name was a little troublesome) looked down at Ryoma with something that could only be described as smug arrogance in his eyes. Funny look, Ryoma noted, for someone who had huddled in fear at Arai's teasing game the other day. But Ryoma only resumed tying his shoes with a noncommittal 'hm?' and he could tell that the lack of interest annoyed Horio.

"No matter – I guess it just shows that a freshman can't be as good as a regular."

Ryoma continued to tie his shoes.

"Ah – did you guys know? Yesterday, a fighting type against an electric type was a null matchup? There are specific type advantages and disadvantages that can _really_ sway the outcome of a match!" Horio exclaimed, bringing up an expert finger to accentuate his point.

Once again, the small group of freshmen ooh'ed at his knowledge.

"You're really cool, Horio!"

Horio flushed a happy, embarrassingly bright red. "Well, it's just- common knowledge, you know? I have two years of battling experience! Who knows, maybe I'll even be a _regular_."

Ryoma tightened up the knot on his shoe and got up.

* * *

_Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, ninety-_

Ryoma counted off silently in his head as his upper body curled lithely up and down, and he could feel his muscles fall into that comfortable ache of a good work-out. The first-years around him, though, apparently didn't share the idea, for groans and pants could be heard from throughout the grounds. Ryoma spared one of them a disinterested glance, and fought the urge to smirk at the whining mess he found.

Two years of pokemon training experience, it seemed, didn't do much when it came to basic exercises, did it? Ryoma had met a group of particularly annoying first-years that day, but he was never one to be anything more than passive; they clumped around with him, because apparently that was what freshmen did: huddle together in frightened little cliques.

The fence doors to the grounds swung open, then, and five boys walked in through the doors. Again, murmurs filled the air, and Ryoma paused to wonder if it was _really_ that interesting to talk about the _same people_ every time they entered the area.

"Alright, freshmen! Feel free to pick a rectangle and try sparring with some of the club pokemon; we want everyone to have a hand at battling," the one at the front proclaimed, clapping his hands with a gentle smile. Two locks of hair formed mirror crescent moons on his forehead, and the rest of his head, Ryoma saw, was rather…smoothly almost-bald-but-not-really.

Funny hair.

At his words, though, the entire area erupted into fierce cheers and a mad shuffle as freshmen darted up off the ground and headed towards where the club's practice pokemon were kept. Ryoma winced and shifted over as a part of the stampede rushed past him, too, and barely managed to avoid the flurry of feet as they passed.

From beside him, Horio – the one with _two whole years_ of battling experience – and Katsuo and Kachiro, too, got up, excitement in their expressions.

"That must be Tezuka-buchou!" Horio comments, and the other two freshman fawn over his words.

"Hey, Oishi – why don't we go over there to practice, too?" a softer voice calls out to 'Oishi,' and Kachiro and Katsuo hands Horio a deadpan look. Horio laughs sheepishly.

Before any of them could say a word, though, the sight of the regulars practicing has them in a spellbound hold.

_Whoosh. Thump._

_Whoosh. Thump._

_Whoosh. Thump._

Oishi stands at the far end of one of the rectangles, and a large crescent-shaped pokemon hovers just beside him: Lunatone. From beside the trainer and Pokemon, a large steel bin container is stood, filled to the brim with small, metallic disks: training material, something Inui had developed in order to aid in both defense and offense training. And in times like these, accuracy.

A basket stood a few feet away from Oishi.

Oishi tossed one of the disks in the air, and Lunatone hovered it forward in a beam of blue light: Psybeam. _Whoosh._

"Swellow," a soft voice orders.

Ryoma's eyes flit to the owner and catches a glimpse of honey-brown locks and an eternal smile imprinted on fair lips.

The bird pokemon dashes forward, wings outstretched and glimmering silver; it rams straight into the floating disk, and hits it _straight into the basket._

_Thump._

Lunatone hurtles another disk forward-

"Aipom, nya!"

A purple monkey-like creature darts forward, and with its hand-shaped tail, punches the disk-

-right into the basket again._ Thump_.

Horio, Katsuo, Kachiro – and all the other freshmen – stare, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Horio's eyes don't stop widening until Ryoma wonders if it's possible for the skin around one's eyes to actually tear from one's eyes growing uncharacteristically big, and then- "No matter where he levitates it-"

_Thump_.

"They're hitting it all-"

_Thump_.

"-into the basket," Horio breathes weakly.

_Thump, thump, thump._

"Seviper- fshuuuuu," and a viper-like, shimmering black snake springs forward from a coil; the red tail nearly punctures straight through the disk, and it careens into the basket.

_Thump._

"I've never seen accuracy practice like this!"

"So this is the skill of the Seigaku regulars…"

The freshmen have erupted into a sea of awed murmurs and exclamations. Off to the side, Arai and the second-year members look oddly proud of the regular members, as though it were _their_ pokemon making it into the baskets, and not the regulars. "Our senpai are great, as usual," Arai murmurs, not without a swell of pride, and turns to look condescendingly upon Ryoma. "Do you see now, freshman? Don't get so cocky just because you managed to hold your own against an injured Momo."

Ryoma only watches his Pikachu do little entertaining flips in the air, eyes occasionally flitting to the regulars' practice in half-interest.

Arai starts in a flash of burning irritation at this disrespectful, damned freshman-

"Ah! Crap, too far!" Oishi exclaims, just as Lunatone sent a training disk flying far, far, over at least the span of three rectangles-

Ryoma looks up.

The disk is heading straight down, down, right for where he's standing-

-but moving's a bit of a chore. So instead, Ryoma tugs on his cap lightly, and intones: "Pikachu."

The yellow pokemon scampered up his leg, back, until it's reached his shoulder, whereupon it launches itself into the air. With an adorable exclamation of 'Pika pika!,' the rat flies directly at the training disk, and Pikachu's tail has already begun to glow a bright, blinding silver-

_Clang!_

Pikachu's tail slammed against the training disk, and sent it flying back-

-over the three battle fields-

-hurtling past Fuji's head, barely brushing against his hair; the boy's blue eyes have opened slightly-

-and straight into the basket.

_Thwump._

For a moment, the grounds are frozen in activity, with all eyes – some bulging, some awed, some amused, some glinting behind a pair of calculating glasses – trained on the small form of Ryoma, who's only concern is patting Pikachu on the head. The silence is broken when Horio drops the pokeball he'd been holding from his limp hands, mouth open in a gaping hole.

"It's surprisingly simple," Ryoma drawls.

Arai darts forward in a surprising display of speed, fueled by his exasperation and annoyance at this freshman. "Don't get so arrogant, little brat!" he roars, enraged, and grips violently at the front of Ryoma's shirt. The smaller boy looks up at him through bored golden eyes-

-and for a moment, Arai feels his breath constricting in his chest at the gleam in those eyes.

"What are you arguing about on the battle grounds?"

Gazes snap to the gates, now, to find Tezuka Kunimitsu's imposing figure at the doorway. "Captain!" everyone erupts into a respectful greeting and bow, but Tezuka's eyes are fixed on Ryoma and Arai.

"Ten laps around the grounds for disrupting practice."

Arai looks crestfallen. Almost like, Ryoma quietly snickers, like a girl being scolded by her crush. "But- he started it-"

Ryoma wants to roll his eyes. Right. He walked on over and put Arai's hand on his neat shirt, and made Arai scream his head off like an idiot. _Right._

But Tezuka's having none of that, for he commands: "Twenty laps."

Ryoma sighs and withdraws his Pikachu. "Che," he mutters, and jogs lazily, fluidly off, past Arai and Tezuka and begins running his laps around the grounds; he wasn't going to wait around for Arai to open his stupid mouth and get them _more_ laps.

From across the grounds, Fuji's interested blue gaze follows Ryoma as he runs.

* * *

"This annoying brat…"

"What's up, Arai?"

A shuffle.

"Ah – isn't that that freshman's bag?"

"Yeah."

"Woah – four custom pokeballs?"

"His arrogance is really getting on my nerves – I think it's time his senpai taught him a lesson."

"Ah, Arai, you know if you get caught, Tezuka-buchou's not gonna let you off easy-"

"Relax, idiot. It's no big deal. Just a little lesson on knowing to respect your seniors."

* * *

Ryoma jogged tirelessly back into the original area he'd started off in, and found the rest of the freshmen commanding out basic attacks to their pokemon. He found Horio with his rattata, and Katsuo and Kachiro with other pokemon on loan from the club; the pokemon darted around a small area as the three issued out wary, tentative orders – ones they'd learned from the beginners' textbook in class the other day.

"Ah, Echizen – you're done running your laps already?"

"Hn." Ryoma tugged on his cap ligtly.

"We're practicing basic commands – hurry up and join us; the freshmen have to try out 100 commands for practice on how to order pokemon," Katsuo explained kindly.

Ryoma walked over to the bench, and upon reaching it, paused in mild confusion. He was sure he'd left his bag here – he wasn't the forgetful one. Golden eyes scanned the premises quickly-

-until raucous, obnoxious laughter filled his ears.

Ryoma's gaze drifted to a spot a few paces away, where he found Arai, flanked by his two second-year henchmen.

"Didn't bring your pokeball with you? A little arrogant, aren't we?" Arai's _annoying_ voice chuckles, and Ryoma's eyes narrow slightly.

"If you're confident, why don't you face me now? Though you don't have your precious pokeballs now."

Ryoma just wants to go back hope and sleep.

"Here, Arai," and one of the second-years tossed him a worn pokeball – one of the Pokemon that the club owned, though really, no one ever wanted to use it. Arai took it, and lobbed it over to Ryoma, who caught it in a deft display of innate reflexes.

"Here, take this extra one."

Out of simple curiosity, Ryoma released it – and found a tiny, green worm-like creature staring back through wide, wide eyes.

"Ah! A caterpie!" Horio's loud, obnoxious voice cut through his thoughts. "You can't possibly battle with that-"

"What's wrong? Won't face me?" Arai's voice interrupted, again, and Ryoma barely suppressed a twitch of his brow with a sigh.

* * *

"Arai's making trouble with the freshmen again, nya," Eiji observes, arms slung around Eiji once more.

"Should we stop them?" Inui asks, hardly looking up from his notebook; it's easy to tell that no one really minds enough to put an end to it.

Eiji only shrugged with a sigh, an exasperated 'what-will-we-do-with-him' expression on his features. "He's only gonna get scolded when Tezuka comes back."

Only the 'scritch-scratch' of Inui's pen answered.

* * *

"That pokemon suits you perfectly, freshman – take this as a warning and don't make trouble again."

Ryoma wants to point out that he's not really the one instigating all these fights.

"Just then, maybe your precious pokemon will show up."

Golden eyes narrow.

"Alright. Let's go," Ryoma answers quietly.

Arai stops dead in his tracks. He turns around with a bewildered gaze that tells Ryoma that he hadn't really been expecting to be taken up in his challenge, and Ryoma wants to roll his eyes – what's with all the trouble of getting him riled up without actually expecting a match?

He really didn't understand these people sometimes.

"What?" Arai asks, dumbfounded, a stupid look on his face.

Ryoma's lips curve into a smirk.

"Come on, senpai – unless you're afraid?"

Arai splutters.

* * *

"Hmm…" Fuji has his hand poised elegantly over his chin, eyes closed in that deceptively pretty smile of his. Kaidoh looks up in faint interest, though he's more concerned with Seviper's next training set; from beside them, Taka glances at the field in worry.

"Maybe we should stop them?"

Fuji's smile widens. "No – I want to see where this goes."

Inui looks up, and his lips part slightly when he sees that dangerous gleam in Fuji's eyes.

* * *

Piquing Fuji's interest never bode well for anyone.

"Raticate – _tackle!_" Even Arai's commands are in that overly-loud, self-righteous voice, and Ryoma almost winces at the lack of finesse in his battle style. But he couldn't really talk about finesse at the moment, not when he had a _caterpie_ crawling around in front of his own trainer's box.

"Caterpie, dodge," Ryoma commands back in a calm, cool voice, that has some of the freshmen marveling at his attitude.

But Caterpie, try as it might, couldn't obey Ryoma's command – for he'd ordered Caterpie on the witless assumption that it had the same speed, the same capability as his Pikachu, and it obviously didn't. Raticate barreled into Caterpie, managing to strike a hit on its side, and the green bug was rolling off a few feet.

Ryoma nearly cringed.

Arai's answering grin was insufferable.

"Tackle," Ryoma tries again-

-to no avail.

Caterpie slugged on forward, and Arai's burlier Raticate stares it down, sending a glance to its owner in a silent message: _Are you serious?_

"Paw at it, Raticate," Arai manages to shout over his glee, and the rat does just that; it paws at the Caterpie in half-amusement, half annoyance.

Caterpie went sprawling again.

Ryoma is surprised that it can even crawl up once more.

"As I thought – it's impossible with that Pokemon," the voice of Horio is unmistakable. Unhelpful, as always.

"…String shot." Caterpie, this time, moves with alarming speed, and shoots out a white string of _something_; it flies harmlessly onto the metal fence behind the raticate.

Arai bursts into boisterous laughter.

"Hmm…" Ryoma stares speculatively at the Raticate, then at Caterpie.

"Caterpie, string shot again," Ryoma orders, directing it in a certain direction; Caterpie fires off the attack, though Raticate easily maneuvers out of the way. Arai's triumphant grin is almost too much to bear, but Ryoma ignores it with another "String shot."

"String shot."

_Whoosh._

"String shot."

_Whoosh. Dodge._

"String shot."

_Whoosh._

"String shot."

_Woosh._

Arai frowned – was that freshman stupid, or had he just given up, entirely? He must know by now that none of the string shots would actually manage to _catch_ Raticate; perhaps, he realized with growing glee, this was that brat's way of dealing with resignation.

He'd teach that freshman to mess with his seniors-

"String shot."

_Woosh._

"Raticate – time to finish it up; tackle!" Arai commands, an eager finger jabbed towards the bug pokemon.

The brown pokemon rushes into the attack, fangs bared, and Ryoma hardly raises a brow; in fact, he doesn't do anything at all. Caterpie remained still without Ryoma's command to guide him, and Ryoma stood with his hands calmly at his sides, without ever making a motion to order the Pokemon in front of him.

From the sidelines, Horio wonders if Echizen's just completely given up.

Fuji's smile widens – because from his vantage point, he can see the entire picture.

"Caterpie- string shot," Ryoma commands suddenly, and the pokemon darts into action: a stream of thick white netting is shot forward, directly into the Raticate, which had been lunging for Caterpie. It's given no time to change direction, and instead, is caught off guard, sent stumbling back-

-Arai laughs at the pathetic attempt at an attack-

-only to have the smile slide from his lips when Ratice _can't get back up_.

For now, it's caught in a web-like structure that Caterpie has made upon Ryoma's design.

* * *

"Hmm…probability that the freshman planned this from the start: 78 percent."

Fuji's smile widens into unadulterated giddiness, and even Eiji flinches from the excitement in his expression. "Saa…a great calligrapher doesn't need to choose his pens, hm?"

* * *

"Caterpie – tackle it, until it faints."

Arai's jaw drops.

A Caterpie's tackle didn't do much damage, to begin with – but with the fact that his Raticate was currently tangled up in some messy web and wouldn't be able to dodge for a while-

-but for the freshman to actually tell his Caterpie to just keep tackling until Raticate fainted was…

"Oi, oi – why don't you just call it a day for now?" Arai's friend manages to croak out, and relief floods Arai's system.

Until: "Yadda."

And that was how Arai watched his precious Raticate be tackled into fainting by a smug, vicious little green bug.

"Mada mada dane."

Oishi finally tore his gaze from the window, an almost-excited gleam in his eyes. It had been a while since he'd seen such creative – and relentless – battling in the Seigaku courts; and never had he seen it from such a little freshman. Perhaps Ryuzaki-sensei had been right in being excited for Echizen Ryoma's arrival to Seishun, he couldn't help but think.

He turned to Tezuka, a smile blooming on his lips. "What do you think, Kunimitsu?"

Tezuka looked up from filling out the papers in front of him. A disapproving glance lingered in his expression, and almost immediately, Oishi quelled slightly; ah, perhaps he'd underestimated Tezuka's penchant for the rules. "I don't condone breaking the rules."

Oishi laughed quietly.

"Thirty laps for everyone," Tezuka states quietly, _powerfully_, and for a moment, Oishi is lost again in the sheer command in such a young person's voice.

Oishi's lips quirk in amusement. "Even the regulars?"

"Everyone."

The door slid closed as Tezuka left.

"Well, well," Oishi sighed.

But Ryuzaki Sumire wasn't looking at Oishi, or the window; in fact, she was looking straight down at the table where Tezuka had been sitting, and the papers there: the brackets for the regulars' ranking matches. A grin tugged on her lips-

"Hey, Oishi. Why don't you take a look at this?"

"Yes, sensei?"

Oishi made his way over, before-

-a soft chuckle. "That Kunimitsu. Even if he says all that, he still…"

For in the very last spot, in Block E, Tezuka's neat handwriting spelled out: 'Echizen Ryoma (Year I).'

* * *

"Hey, Echizen."

Ryoma paused in his tracks at the familiar voice – ah, where had he heard that before? Then again, with this new school and all, he was hearing too many new voices to remember. Still. This one tugged particularly at his mind-

Finally, Ryoma turned around with a reluctant glance.

Golden eyes widened slightly at the sight of the smiling face. It was _disturbingly beautiful_, the face of that senpai - pale, like porcelain, with features so dainty that one could almost believe he were a living, breathing figure of art. Elegance in human form, with every moment made as though it were some slow, seductive dance-

Ah. One of the regulars, wasn't he?

For some strange reason, Ryoma had noticed him amongst all the others – perhaps, he mused, it was the way that the boy had of _staring pointedly _straight at him. Ryoma shifted his weight to the other foot, not exactly comfortable.

"Yeah?" Ryoma asked, slight inquiry in his tone, with the rest filled in by annoyance and impatience.

"That was a nice match," Fuji murmured in such a whimsical tone, that Ryoma was left trying to figure out exactly how he was supposed to take the statement.

A compliment? Sarcasm? Some implication of something?

"…Thanks," he finally said instead, because he wasn't sure what else to say.

"I'm Fuji, by the way. Fuji Shusuke."

"Okay."

Fuji's smile widened, and Ryoma could have sworn he saw a flash of a predatory grin in the lips. He blinked, though, and it was gone.

"It's a _pleasure_."

* * *

**READ. REVIEW. LOVE.**


End file.
